Shattered Snowflake, Wilted Lily
by Starclone
Summary: Theresa Blackheart is a grim reaper who isn't happy with her current job. But when she meets the eccentric Undertaker while tracking down a serial killer, her whole world changes. UndertakerXOC. Cheesy summary, I know. Please review.
1. Chapter 1

Ch. 1: Inspiration

London was home to a variety of people throughout the years, including supernatural beings. One such person sat on the rooftops watching the sunrise. But Theresa Blackheart didn't care for the blending colors as the sun slowly resurfaced above the horizon. The scene was so familiar to her eyes it was almost boring, much like her current job. Every day it was report to dispatch, not be given an assignment, be laughed at by her coworkers, and spend the day doing practically nothing except wonder if she would ever get to use her death scythe.

Being a reaper was lonely enough, since the only people she was able to talk to were other reapers, and those conversations were often short and one-sided. But being a female reaper, she was even more of an outcast. Most female reapers stayed in the library or worked in administration, except for her; Theresa had wanted to be out in the field, doing what reapers were supposed to do. She had gotten her wish, but at the cost of never being given an assignment. Will denied it every time, but Theresa could tell he was sexist. There was nothing she could do about it, though, so she followed her routine, hoping that one day she would have the chance to prove she was capable of completing field tasks.

Theresa sighed, and a gentle breeze picked up, blowing her snow white bangs into her field of vision. As she brushed the hair behind her ears, she felt something hit her leg. Looking down, she saw it was a newspaper. Since there was nothing better to do, Theresa picked it up and started to read, taking into note it was the most current issue. The headline read, "Serial Killer Strikes Again!" Theresa scanned the article, her thoughts still elsewhere when suddenly it dawned on her. There was a serial killer on the loose; during training she learned serial killers were practically always on the 'To Die' list(Well, every human was, but that was beside the point.). If she could reap this guys' soul, she could prove that she was a qualified reaper, and then maybe she would finally be treated as an equal and given assignments. Theresa jumped up with excitement, but stopped herself suddenly. She had absolutely no information about the killer or his victims, which meant she had no way to find him. 'Great,' she thought. 'Now what?' she sat back down and thought for a while before she had another epiphany. She might not have any intel, but Scotland Yard would. With some sweet talking she might be able to get somebody to give her some information.

Then it was settled; Theresa would find this serial killer and show that she was a true reaper. As the sun crept over the last buildings on the horizon, Theresa felt a new sense of hope with the rising dawn.


	2. Chapter 2

Ch. 2: Informant

Theresa started her day like any other. She went to the reaper dispatch headquarters and made her way to Will's desk. He looked up slowly, his yellow-green eyes indifferently gazing over the rims of his spectacles. "Sorry Theresa, no work for you today." Theresa left the office and walked down the hall. The snickers and rude comments she heard on the way out still hurt, but not as much as they had previously. Today she was filled with confidence and determination. Theresa wasted no time in heading to the police station to get some information. Upon arrival Theresa saw a man in a tan trench coat with red hair. He turned and saw Theresa as well, and started walking towards her. "Good morning miss," he said with a tip of his hat. "What can I do for you?"

Theresa let a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth. "Well, I was reading the paper and saw that the serial killer hasn't been caught yet." The man's eyebrows perked up in slight surprise, but he regained his composure.

"Fear not my lady. The Yard will soon apprehend the criminal. You'll be able to sleep soundly, rest assured."

"Actually," Theresa said, working as much charm as possible, "I'm pretty good with detective work. Maybe if you share some of your information I could be of assistance."

The man's expression instantly turned deadly serious. "Absolutely not, "he said. "This case is too dangerous for a civilian, and a woman at that." He began to walk away when Theresa grabbed his arm, suddenly desperate.

"Please, you have to let me help! If I don't do this I'll never be able to prove myself to my coworkers."

"I'm sorry, but I cannot allow it."

"There must be something you can do." After a few beats of silence the man sighed, looked around, and leaned in next to Theresa's ear.

"There is a man who should have some information about the victims. Go down the street and turn left at the corner store. Don't stop until you've reached the Undertaker's shop. He might be able to help you."

"Thank you sir," Theresa said with a breath of relief.

"The name's Abberline. Now you be careful miss." With that he gave a small nod and walked away. Theresa turned and ran down the crowded streets, filled with a nearly uncontrollable excitement. She was starting to get closer to her goal; hopefully this Undertaker character had the information she needed.

It didn't take long for Theresa to reach the shop. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she saw plenty of coffins, but not a single person, living or otherwise. She took a step inside and called out. "Hello? Is anyone here?" There was no response. Theresa turned to leave when she heard the sound of creaking hinges. She turned back and saw a lid opening on one of the coffins. A man with silver hair and black clothing emerged, wearing a top hat and the biggest grin Theresa had seen. He climbed out of the coffin and turned to look at Theresa, or she assumed he was since she couldn't see his eyes. "Welcome. What can I-"he stopped and his face changed to an expression of shock.

"Is something wrong?" Theresa asked. The man she assumed was the Undertaker shook his head and the grin was back.

"Not at all. Now, what can I do for you?"

"I'm told you're the person to come to for information." Theresa said, trying to maintain a professional tone. The Undertaker tapped a finger against his chin and hummed a little tune under his breath. His head moved up and down, almost as if he were measuring her for one of his coffins. 'Something feels…off about him.' Theresa thought to herself. She couldn't put her finger on it, but he gave her the impression that he wasn't quite… human. She was broken from her train of thought when the Undertaker spoke again.

"What kind of information, my dear?"

"I'm investigating the recent serial killings."

The Undertaker's smile widened and he let out a small laugh. "And why would a pretty reaper like you need information like that?" Theresa froze, completely caught off guard. How in the world did he know she was a reaper? And did he call her pretty? He began laughing uncontrollably, making Theresa slightly uncomfortable. Eventually he stopped and looked at Theresa again. "Sorry dear, but your reaction was just priceless. Yes I know reapers exist. Now, why are you interested in the victims of a serial killer?" Theresa hesitated to share that information with a man she just met. But she needed information, and somehow she felt she could trust him.

"I'm trying to track down the culprit and reap his soul."

"Interesting. But, if you don't mind me asking, couldn't you just look up his name on the 'To Die' list? That would save you a lot of trouble, I think."

"Well, I haven't exactly been assigned to get the killer's soul. You see, I haven't been given a single assignment since I became a reaper. I was hoping that if I caught the killer, I could prove that I was as good as any other reaper and be given tasks." The Undertaker listened intently, silently feeling sorry for the young woman. She seemed really eager to do her job, but there was some sort of barrier that prevented that, and he could guess what that barrier was. "I'm sorry," Theresa said. "I've said too much."

"There's nothing to be sorry about. Now follow me and I'll show you the victims' bodies." Theresa followed him to the back of the store where there were three bodies lined up in a row, all young men in between sixteen and nineteen years old. "They all have been murdered the same way, as it is with most serial killers, but I haven't found any other clues as to who the culprit might be." Theresa moved closer to inspect one of the victims. Well, it was obvious the killing blow was a slash across the chest. And it was the same blow on each victim. 'There must be something I'm missing,' Theresa thought to herself. She leaned in closer and gently pulled at the pale flesh to better examine the wound. Then she saw it; looking deeper into the cut she saw a choppy row of torn tissue and muscles. These tears followed the line of the blade's incisions.

"Did you see these tears?" Theresa asked, not looking up.

"What?"' Undertaker said, sounding as though he were just daydreaming. He moved to the other side of the table and leaned down, his forehead nearly touching Theresa's. "No, I hadn't seen those before. Very observant miss."

"What caused them, I wonder? The cuts are clean on the surface, and it's too uniform to be more than one blade." The Undertaker shrugged and walked away from the bodies. Theresa moved more of the man's shirt, completely unfazed by the fact that he was quite muscular and in life would have been considered very handsome. Her hands travelled upward along the chest until she saw black and blue marks that clashed with the now pale skin. Bruises, she noted. They continued all the way around the neck in a uniform manner. "What are these bruises from?"

"Near as I can tell they were from the victim being strangled. But why the killer would do that I have no idea. Seems like overkill to me."

"Indeed." Theresa continued studying the bruises when she had an idea. "Do you have any rope?" No response. She looked up and saw the Undertaker in a daze once again. 'I wonder if he's usually this unfocused.' "Ahem," she said. He shook himself from his stupor.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Do you have any rope?"

"Ah, yes." He turned and opened up a nearby cabinet, pulling out a three foot piece of rope. He handed it to Theresa who laid it against the victim's neck. It matched the bruises perfectly, except for at the front of the neck, just above the collarbone. Theresa twisted the rope so it would match the shape, causing it to resemble a knot. She picked up the rope and tied it. "Interesting knot, deary."

"I've only seen this knot in one place: the harbor. Sailors use this kind of knot on their ships."

"And what were you doing down by the harbor might I ask?"

Theresa paused. "That's not important right now." She set down the rope and went back to examining the slash across the chest. "Of course! Fishermen use knives with hooks on the end, which would explain the tearing in these cuts. The end of the blade would hook onto the tissue and rip through it as the blade kept moving."

"I'm truly impressed. I never would have deduced that myself."

"But it's not enough to identify a single killer, seeing as there are a lot of sailors in London. Did you find anything else on the bodies?"

Undertaker tapped his finger to his chin again. "As a matter of fact, I did. Let me see, now. Where did I put it?" He began looking into different cabinets and drawers. "Aha! Here they are!" He brought over three pieces of fabric. "They each had a pretty handkerchief on them. Didn't think much of it when the bodies were dropped off here. Course most of the time I just think about making my guests look their best." Theresa examined one of the pieces of fabric. She had never seen any type of material like this before.

"Do you know what kind of fabric this is?"

"Last time I saw material like this it was on a dress imported from India. Very few ships here make that journey on a regular basis." Now Theresa had something to work with; she just needed to stake out the harbor and find out which ships were going to and from India. She refastened the victim's shirt and looked up at the Undertaker.

"Thank you for your help, Mr.….."

"Just call me Undertaker. I don't believe I got your name miss."

"Theresa."

"Well Theresa, I hope you find what you're looking for." Theresa headed for the door and was about to step outside when Undertaker called out again. "Miss? I would actually like for you to do me a favor. When you get the culprit, bring his body back here. I would simply love to fit him for a coffin." Theresa nodded and left the shop.

As she walked down the street her mind was finally starting to process some questions she had pushed to the back of her mind. How did Undertaker know about reapers? Was he one himself? Whenever he got close to her she felt an aura similar to what she felt at dispatch from her colleagues. But if he was a reaper, why was he running a funeral parlor? And where were his spectacles? Why did he keep spacing out while she was examining the dead bodies? And why did he call her pretty? That last question really plagued her mind. Maybe it was just something he said to all women who entered his shop. It was probably just messing with her because nobody ever called her pretty, with the exception of drunk people. Her thoughts were interrupted when she saw that she had reached the harbor. There were a large number of boats of all sizes to her left, each one floating carelessly on the water. To her right there was a variety of shops. She took a deep breath and entered the nearest pub; it was time she got some more answers.


	3. Chapter 3

Ch. 3: Investigation

The brisk night air stung Theresa's cheeks as she made her way to the docks. After three different pubs and almost a whole day of sweet talking she found out that there was one man who made regular trips to India. "Though I wouldn't be goin' near 'im," one man said. "Last I heard he's been 'avin trouble keeping his crew members to stick around. For the past three weeks he's been hiring new cabin boys, sayin' the last one quit. Real suspicious, it is; it'd be a shame to see a pretty thing like you getting' hurt." After that bit of gossip the man tried to kiss Theresa, which resulted in him getting a slap to the face and Theresa leaving the pub before anybody asked questions.

The amount of people was slowly dwindling near the harbor, which was good. Theresa found the boat she was looking for, the "Persian Maiden". It looked deserted, but Theresa's senses told her there was somebody on board. Checking to make sure nobody was watching, she leapt strait onto the bow of the ship, landing without making a sound. She crept onto the main deck, searching for the man whose presence she felt. Suddenly she heard the creaking of wood, and she saw the door of the captain's cabin opening. Theresa ducked behind a pile of crates as she saw a surly Englishman with short black hair move from the cabin with a large, oddly shaped bag slung over one shoulder. He set the bag down on the deck and opened it. Theresa was at just the right angle to see the contents of the bag; it was a person, a young man roughly the same age as the other victims. She crept closer and saw the same slash across the man's chest and a rope tied around his neck. No doubt about it, this was the killer she was looking for. Now to reap his soul.

Theresa reached behind her head and slowly undid the ribbons in her hair. She held the ends of the soft, silver material in each hand and took a deep breath. With a flick of her wrists the ribbons solidified into two gleaming silver rods, and a pale shimmering blade popped out on each one. Her death scythe's handles were shorter than normal, about the length of a sword, but other than that the design was like a standard reaper's scythe. The man, who still hadn't noticed the reaper behind him, began to undo the rope around the younger man's pale neck. "Can't be wastin' perfectly good rope," he muttered to himself. Suddenly the moon crept from behind the clouds, illuminating the deck of the ship. The man looked away from his handiwork as the light showed him an extra shadow, the shadow of a person. He grabbed a knife from his belt and turned around. When he saw a woman with obscure weapons in front of him the man hesitated. Theresa didn't. In one clean stroke she swung the scythe in her right hand, feeling only slight resistance as it came into contact with the man's chest and sliced its way into his skin. The man slumped to the ground as Theresa's vision filled with the white light of the Cinematic Record. This was the second time she had watched a human's record, and it was as amazing as the first time.

The swirling strips of film showed her every detail of his life. His name was Robert Carden, and he had lived in London his entire life. His mother had died after the birth of his younger brother James. The two of them had been close for many years, until James had decided to take up work on a ship. Not even a whole week after his first job, the ship was wrecked in a storm and everyone on board had died. But then Robert heard the captain had survived, and he was enraged. That captain should have died along with his brother. If his brother didn't deserve to live, then neither did he. Robert found the captain and ripped him apart with his own fishing knife. That should have been good enough, but it wasn't. James was still gone. Robert tried to move on, so he bought a ship and started a trading business. But when he started hiring a crew his rage resurfaced; the cabin boy he hired looked exactly like James. It wasn't fair, James shouldn't be dead, and somebody shouldn't be trying to replace him. That night he pulled the boy aside. When they were alone he wrapped a rope around his neck and pulled it tight. The boy was strong and put up a good fight; Robert was forced to pull out a knife and slash him across the chest, officially ending his life. As he watched the lifeless body crumple to the ground, he felt something in his heart. He liked this feeling; he liked killing. So he kept killing, he kept finding young men to slash across the chest, and he would leave their bodies out in the open marketplace where everyone could see his work. Robert wanted everyone to know what he had done, to know his anger and desire for revenge. Then the fateful night came, the night where he would finally be caught. This last kill had been a little messier, so he decided to dump the body in the harbor. The deed was almost done until the moonlight revealed the presence of another person on his ship. He turned, ready to dispose of the witness.

And then it was all over.

Hefting the scythe in her right hand, Theresa decided this was a man who deserved death. She sliced the record with a clean swipe, ending the light show. Reaching into her pocket Theresa found a piece of paper and a pencil. "Robert Carden, age 30. Died of a heart attack on board his ship after the murder of his cabin boy. No other remarks." She put the piece of paper back in her pocket and, after turning her scythes back into ribbons, bent down to pick up Robert's body. A normal human being would not be able to lift him, but of course she wasn't a normal person. The moon was high and the only people on the streets now were the drunk and homeless. Still, for safety's sake Theresa decided she better travel across the rooftops. With another effortless leap she landed on the roof of a nearby building and began to run towards the Undertaker's shop.

When she got close enough to the funeral parlor she leapt down onto the streets. She approached the shop and walked in the door. Even if the Undertaker wasn't awake, she could just leave the body in the back room. Surely he would know it was her who had done the deed. But when she entered the shop she saw him sitting behind the counter, sipping tea out of a beaker and nibbling on what looked to be a dog biscuit. He smiled when he saw Theresa enter the shop and set Robert's body on the counter. Undertaker closely examined the man. "Well done Theresa. Once again I'm impressed." He looked up at her and tilted his head "But where is your death scythe?" Theresa undid the ribbons again and changed them into her scythes, the twin blades shining in the dim candlelight of the shop. "Fascinating. May I?" he asked, holding out his hand. Theresa handed him one of her weapons, allowing him to examine it. The design was simple, except for the fact that it collapsed into a ribbon, allowing the weapon to essentially hide in plain sight and be easily accessible. Shortening the handle and using two also improved efficiency. He handed the weapon back to Theresa who returned both blades to her hair.

"So, why did you want this man's body again?" Theresa asked.

"I didn't," Undertaker said with a giggle.

"Wait, what? I thought you wanted me to bring him back so you could fit him for a coffin."

"Is that what I said? Hmm, it sounds like me, but I don't recall saying it." He started giggling again. Okay, this was getting kind of ridiculous. Why was this guy so into laughing? Well, as long as she was here, she might as well try and get some other answers.

"Okay. So Undertaker, how do you know-" Undertaker quickly pressed a finger to her lips. "Uh uh uh, missy. I'm going to need payment in exchange for any more answers, especially since you got out of here without paying for information the first time. Now, before you ask me how much you should know I don't care for the Queen's money."

"Then how do people pay you?"

"By making me laugh."

"I think I've already done that. You've been giggling ever since I've met you."

"Ah, but that's giggling my dear. I desire true laughter. So, what have you got?" Theresa really had to think about it. She didn't know very many jokes, and the ones she did know were pretty common. She sighed and told the funniest joke she knew. Evidently it was funny enough, because it made Undertaker roll on the floor with laughter for a solid ten minutes. When he stood up he reached under his bangs, supposedly to wipe tears out of his eyes. "Oh my. That was truly wonderful. But…"

"What?" Theresa asked. She hoped she wouldn't have to tell another joke; it probably wouldn't be as good as the first one.

"It's nothing. I was just thinking that it would have more entertaining if you had smiled while you told that joke."

"Oh. It's been a while since I've smiled, well, genuinely." Theresa said, rubbing the back of her neck. There wasn't really much left in her life that gave her reason to smile. But she was getting off topic. "Okay, I've made you laugh. Now how do you know about reapers?" Undertaker was about to answer when all of a sudden the door to Undertaker's shop flew open. In stepped an all too familiar well-dressed man with yellow-green eyes and glasses.

"Theresa Blackheart, you need to come with me. We have some things to discuss about your recent activity." Theresa stayed silent as she followed Will out the door. Undertaker watched the two of them leave. This was looking like trouble.


	4. Chapter 4

Ch. 4:

Will had taken Theresa all the way back to dispatch and into his office. "Theresa, it has come to my attention that you have recently acted without orders."

"What?"

"You reaped a soul without proper authorization."

"Only because you never bothered to give me authorization, even though I am completely qualified!" Theresa shouted back. "And it wasn't like I just killed a random civilian. He was a serial killer who was bound to receive judgment anyway."

"Regardless of who the human was, you still acted without orders, which means you will have to be dealt disciplinary action." Will said flatly. Theresa was furious; she had done everything by the book, minus the whole getting the name from the 'To Die' list thing, and she was going to get punished for it.

"Don't even bother Will," she said through gritted teeth. She undid the ribbons from her hair and set them on Will's desk. "I quit."

"Theresa don't act so rashly; you can't just quit."

"Watch me." With that Theresa stormed out of Will's office. She was brimming with anger, and she didn't care who she bumped into on the way out. She was pretty sure she pushed Grell over, but she didn't bother to check or apologize. Theresa was almost to the door when she collided with somebody and fell to the ground. "Hey, watch where you're going!" She looked up and saw she had run into… "Undertaker? What are you doing here?"

He smiled and helped Theresa to her feet. "I was looking for you."

"Why- Wait that doesn't matter. How did you get here? How did you know this place existed?"

"I used to work here."

"You used to be a reaper?" Undertaker nodded. Theresa was surprised; she didn't think her suspicion of him would be correct.

"So, what did Will have to say to you?"

"He was going to punish me for reaping a soul, so I quit." Undertaker looked surprised, but he didn't say anything else so Theresa moved past him and left dispatch. What she didn't see was Undertaker briskly walking to Will's office and, not bothering to knock, entered the room and slammed his hands on his desk.

"You made Theresa quit!?" Will looked up at Undertaker unfazed.

"I didn't force her to quit, she did so of her own free will."

"She wouldn't have felt the need to if you had treated her as an equal."

"That is not an area of your concern."

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that you're being unfair towards your employees."

"She wouldn't have been able to do her job efficiently. Women get too emotional over everything. They become attached, and aren't capable of ending people's lives. Giving her a register would have meant nothing would get done, which means more overtime for reapers like me."

"Oh, it's all about overtime for you. Well guess what? I examined the serial killer's body after she reaped his soul. She was clean and efficient. Theresa could be one of your most valuable assets if you would just give her a chance."

"Mr. Undertaker, I'm not going to allow your personal feelings for one female alter how I do my job. Now if you'll excuse me I have things I must attend to." With that Will stood up and left the office. Undertaker left as well, heading back to his shop. After disposing of Robert's body, he decided he should find Theresa. He had a feeling that she would be in need of a new job since she just lost her previous one. But where could he find her?

After some thought, Undertaker figured he should start his search on the rooftops. Most reapers travelled across the roofs. He also sensed something of a kindred spirit between himself and Theresa, and he would often go to the rooftops when he was upset. So he put up a closed sign in the window and left his shop through the back door. He jumped up to the rooftops and began searching for Theresa. He looked for almost an hour before he found her on the roof of a candy store. She was sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest next to one of the chimneys. "Aren't you a little old for candy?" he asked. Theresa looked up at him.

"I just like the way it smells." Undertaker walked over to her and held a hand out to her. "What do you want?" she asked, trying to sound confident and not upset but failing slightly.

"I want to help you. You don't have a job and I'm guessing no place to live. And seeing as I'm your only acquaintance outside of the reaper society, I'd say I'm your best option." Theresa hesitated, but she knew he was right. She took his hand and stood up. He led her back to his shop and took her to one of the spare bedrooms upstairs. "It's late. In the morning I'll take you to your new employer. For now just get some rest." He left her to explore the room, not that there was much to look at. It had a dresser by the window, a desk, and a simple bed on the opposite wall. Everything looked in surprisingly good condition. Theresa took off her vest and shoes and set them on top of the dresser before laying down on the bed. It was really soft, and it was making Theresa drowsy. As she drifted off to sleep she thought about all that had happened recently. Why was Undertaker willing to help her? They had just met that day, and she was nothing special. Maybe it had something to do with his past, or maybe he liked her, but she doubted that was possible. Either way he was a very interesting person, or reaper rather. Theresa's eyes closed, and she felt a sudden and strange sense of relief.


	5. Chapter 5

Ch. 5:

The next morning Theresa woke up with the sun streaming in through the window. She stretched and got out of bed, putting on her vest and her shoes. 'I wonder what time it is?' she thought to herself. The door to her room opened and Undertaker tilted his head through the doorway. "Oh good, you're awake," he said with a grin. "Well it's time to go."

"Go where?" Theresa asked. Undertaker simply left the room, forcing Theresa to follow. They walked out the door and climbed into a carriage that was waiting outside. Theresa felt uneasy as she climbed inside, as if there were somebody nearby that was a danger to her. "Are you sure about this?" she asked. Undertaker simply nodded and leaned back in his seat. The ride didn't last long and soon the door to the carriage opened. A man with raven black hair and deep red eyes extended his hand.

"You must be Theresa. My name is Sebastian Michaelis, the butler of the Phantomhive family." Theresa took his hand and stepped down from the carriage. "If you will follow me miss, my master is waiting for you." Theresa looked back at Undertaker who nodded again and waved her off. She followed the butler into the front doors of the manor. It was truly beautiful, but she had no time to stare as Sebastian was moving at a brisk pace and she didn't want to get lost. They moved up a flight of stairs and down a long hallway. The butler stopped in front of a set of wooden double doors. He opened them and walked into the room, gesturing for Theresa to follow. She entered and saw a young boy seated at a desk on the far side of the room. He had dark hair and his one eye that was visible was a sapphire blue. "May I introduce the head of the Phantomhive family, the Earl Ciel Phantomhive." Theresa gave a small nod. The boy stood up and looked at Theresa.

"So this is the one Undertaker recommended for our service. Tell me, what's your name?"

"Theresa Blackheart."

"So Theresa, do you have any experience with espionage?"

"Umm…. Not really." Ciel sighed.

"Really, did he expect me to hire her even though she has no experience in the field?" Suddenly there was a few seconds of laughter in the room. The three people turned and saw Undertaker sitting in one of the chairs against the wall.

"Oh young earl, you really are amusing. She has the skills I assure you. Why else would I bring her to you?"

"What I don't understand is why you won't just have her work for you."

"I think she deserves better than dealing with corpses all day. Her skills would go to waste working for me. Trust me, she can be a valuable asset to you."

"Okay, can I ask what's going on?" Theresa said. This conversation was not making any sense to her. Undertaker laughed again.

"I asked the Earl here to give you a job as an informant."

"I told him I'd have to meet you first to see if you'd be up to the task. So far you seem like you'd be suitable. Your reaper skills will give you an advantage, and it seems by your appearance you aren't exactly a dainty woman." Theresa looked down at her outfit; a men's shirt with the shoulders cut off, a dark vest that ended a few inches above her waist, and men's pants and shoes. Her hair was pulled up into a bun to keep it out of the way. Sure she didn't look like most women, but did that mean she was qualified to be a spy? Wait a minute. He knew she was a reaper? That wasn't possible, unless Undertaker told him. But he didn't seem like the kind of person to just give out that sort of information. So how did he know? She looked at the boy, but something drew her attention to his butler, who had moved to stand behind Ciel. His eyes were locked with hers, and she saw them glow a vicious bright red.

"He's a demon," Theresa said, not fully aware she said it out loud.

"Yes he is. Is there a problem with that?" Ciel asked, sounding like he was getting bored of the conversation.

"Possibly. I haven't really known any demons, but this one makes me feel on edge."

"That could end up complicating things. I can't have you working and living here if you're just going to be constantly on edge about Sebastian. I need somebody who can stay focused."

"Well then I guess this little arrangement isn't going to work out." Theresa said. Suddenly Undertaker stood up and walked so he was positioned between Theresa and Ciel.

"Now hold on a minute. I think I might have a solution here." Both Ciel and Theresa looked at him and waited. "What if Theresa were to live with me? That way she could work for you but not have to hang around the butler here. No offense. That would also be convenient for you my lord, seeing as both of your informants would be in the same place." Ciel thought about it; it was a convenient proposition.

"Very well, that will be the arrangement. Theresa, from this moment on you will either address me as 'young master' or 'my lord', is that clear?" Theresa decided that it was in her best interest to take the job. She gave a bow and said, "Yes, young master." Ciel smirked. "Good. I will call for you when I have need of you. Sebastian, take these two back to Undertaker's parlor." Sebastian nodded his head and showed Theresa and Undertaker back outside where the carriage was still waiting. He opened the door and allowed them to climb inside before driving the carriage back to Undertaker's shop. He dropped them off and returned to the manor.

At the funeral parlor, Theresa turned to Undertaker. "Um, Undertaker?"

"Yes?"

"I…. well, I um…. uh… thank you."

"Think nothing of it my dear. I believe this arrangement will be beneficial to all of us. Now, how about some tea?" Theresa nodded and watched Undertaker make a pot of tea. When it was done the two of them sat on coffins as they drank. After a few sips Undertaker started up a conversation. "So, earlier when I asked you about your time at the harbor you told me it wasn't important, but I have a feeling that's not entirely true."

"So?"

"Well, we don't have anything to talk about now. How about you tell me some of the details of that adventure."

Theresa shrugged. "There's not much to tell. For a while I had considered running away, so I spent time at the harbor to try and book passage to another country. But nobody wanted a penniless woman on board their ship, so I ended up staying here."

"Now why would you want to run away?"

"For a long time I felt really lonely here. None of the other reapers wanted to talk to me, and I couldn't hold a normal conversation with anybody else. Why is this important to you?"

"Well if you're going to be living with me I thought it would be good for us to not be strangers."

"That's a good point."

"It is. You know, I think it's a good thing you never got to run away."

"Why is that?" Theresa asked.

"Because if you did, you never would have met me." Undertaker said with another giggle.

Theresa let out a small chuckle. "I suppose you're right. I've never met anybody like you before." She set down her beaker and stretched. "I'm going to get to bed. Goodnight Undertaker."

"Goodnight dear." Theresa climbed the stairs and entered the room she had stayed in the previous night. She laid down on the bed and drifted off to sleep.

Back downstairs Undertaker sat in a dream-like state. He was thrilled that Theresa was going to be living with him; ever since he had met her Undertaker wanted Theresa to be his own. He loved her fiery personality, independence, and intelligence, and he could make her laugh so easily. His heart ached a little when he saw her upset and being treated unfairly, which was part of why he was so willing to help her out. When he said that the new arrangement would be beneficial to everybody, he meant it. He would finally have somebody to share his lonely world with, and she would have a chance to use her skills and be accepted. Now all that was left was for Undertaker to show Theresa how he felt, and hopefully the love would be mutual. As he continued to think about it, a voice in the back of his head kept telling him not to try. 'She's too good for you,' the voice told him. 'What makes you think a girl like that would fall for someone like you.' For now Undertaker pushed those thoughts away. Theresa was going to be around for a long time; who knows what could happen?


	6. Chapter 6

Ch. 6

Two days later Ciel came to Undertaker's parlor to give Theresa her first assignment. She was supposed to find a kidnapper based on a list of suspects Sebastian had put together. By the next day she had it narrowed down to two men, which allowed Ciel to apprehend the culprit easily. Every job Theresa was given she completed swiftly and efficiently. Ciel would never admit it, but he was truly impressed with her skills. She was reliable, smart, and resourceful; it was nice to have a capable servant aside from Sebastian. Theresa also became fond of the young earl, and he began to feel like a younger brother to her.

After about three months of working for Ciel, Theresa finally ran into a case she was having difficulty with. Ciel wanted her to follow the distribution manager of a new Italian trading company in London; Ciel suspected he was behind a recent string of crimes involving thefts courtesy of the Italian mob that was still trying to get a foothold in the underworld. But Theresa had been following the man for an entire week and so far he hadn't done anything suspicious. She came back to the funeral parlor, clearly frustrated. Undertaker followed her upstairs to her room where she began pacing rapidly. "Having trouble with the case, deary?" Theresa looked up at him, still frustrated.

"I've been following this man for a week and still nothing. I'm beginning to think that he doesn't have anything to do with the thefts. But of course I can't tell Ciel that; he's convinced this man is the culprit and I don't want to let him down." Theresa gave an irritated huff and sat down at the desk. She rested her head against her hand as she ran her fingers through her bangs. She was getting nowhere fast. Undertaker came behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. He leaned down next to her ear and spoke softly.

"You know, if you aren't getting answers by observing, you might want to try asking him yourself." Theresa turned and looked at him with an expression that read, 'are you crazy?'

"Are you taking about undercover work? That's incredibly risky."

"I know, but right now it seems like your best option. If you want to catch this guy you'll have to get close to him." Theresa muttered something under her breath as she shifted uncomfortably. "What was that?" he asked.

"I'm just not comfortable with getting… close to men. And I don't really know how to talk to people in order to get information out of them."

"What about when you were trying to catch the serial killer? I imagine you'd need some experience in flirting to get information."

Theresa scoffed. "The only people I had to talk to were drunks. It doesn't take much to get people like that to talk."

"Oh. Well it looks like you're going to have to learn how to flirt. Here, stand up." Undertaker pulled Theresa to her feet and moved her a few steps away from the desk. She raised an eyebrow at him as she crossed her arms.

"What are we doing?"

Undertaker grabbed her arms and moved them to her sides. "Not that. Crossing your arms makes you look closed off and not approachable enough. There, now you actually look a little feminine."

"Are you saying I'm not usually feminine?"

"Yes. Now, let's work on some body language for flirting. Turn your head away from me slightly and brush some hair behind your ear." Theresa complied. "Good, now you need to close the gap between you and your… target. Come a little closer and place your arm around my shoulder." Again Theresa did as she was told, starting to feel uncomfortable. But she knew Undertaker was right; if this was going to work she needed to know how to get information out of a person using feminine influence. "Don't put so much weight on your arm, you're trying to appear dainty. That's it. Now use your other hand and, gently, get me to look you in the eyes." Theresa took a deep breath as Undertaker looked away from her. She brought her hand up softly turned his head, letting her fingers trail along his jawline. Acting on instinct she leaned in closer, their foreheads practically touching. The whole time Undertaker said nothing, he just watched her practice. Theresa could almost see Undertaker's eyes behind his bangs; she reached up, about to move the hair away from his eyes when she stopped herself. 'You're getting out of line Theresa. Don't make things any more awkward.' Her hand moved down and rested on her hip.

"How am I doing?" Undertaker was broken from his trance. He shook his head and cleared his throat.

"Great, you're a natural." They pulled away from each other. "Although, a smile would definitely make things more convincing. But for now we should work on your look."

"My look?"

"Of course. We want you to blend in, so that means a change in wardrobe is a must." He left the room and returned a few minutes later with a lavender dress with a square neckline, A-line skirt, and three quarter length sleeves with no ruffles. He handed the dress, corset, and shoes to Theresa, who looked at them with a little bit of worry.

"Is this really necessary? I'm not overly fond of dresses."

"I'm afraid so deary. Now how about you try that dress on?" Undertaker left the room and Theresa put on the dress. It was snug around her waist and the silky material of the skirt swished playfully around her ankles; it was extremely uncomfortable. "Are you done?" Undertaker called after knocking on the door.

"Yes." The door swung open slowly and Theresa turned to look at Undertaker. He thought she was an absolute vision, but he could tell she wasn't secure wearing the dress.

"You look lovely my dear."

"I hope so, because this dress is really inconvenient. Honestly, how do women move in these things?"

"It just comes with practice." He walked over to Theresa and held her hand as she put on the shoes. They fit quite well. "Now, go ahead and try walking." Theresa took a few steps forward, feeling confident until her ankle rolled and sent her tumbling. Thankfully Undertaker was there and caught her effortlessly. "Are you alright?" he asked. Theresa quickly stood back up.

"I'm fine. I guess you were right about the practice." Theresa took the shoes off and set them on the bed. "Well, I guess that's everything I need for tomorrow. I better get some rest."

"Of course. I'll leave you alone then." Undertaker bowed his head and left the room silently. Theresa took off the dress and slipped into a nightshirt, which was actually just a shirt she stole off the laundry line at the Phantomhive manor. She guessed it was Bardroy's, first because of its length and secondly when she first nabbed the shirt it had reeked of smoke, a smell that took her a week to wash out. But it was comfy and nobody had complained that she had taken it. Theresa climbed into bed and fell into another dreamless sleep.

The next morning Theresa put on the dress and went downstairs. She was about to head out the door when Undertaker called her name. She turned around and saw him with something in his hand. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I just wanted to catch you before you left." He handed her the object in his hand. "Here, I found you a pair of shoes with a lower heel." Theresa put them on, handed him the previous pair, thanked him, and headed out the door. "She's a sweet one, she is," Undertaker said to himself. 'But she'll never be yours,' said the voice in his head. 'No matter how nice you are, she won't return the affection.' Undertaker ignored the voice again, but not before the twinge of sadness that the voice brought hit his heart. He sighed; hopefully the next joke from the young earl's butler would bring some truly thrilling laughs.

Out on the streets of London Theresa headed to the house where her target had taken up residence. She knocked briskly on the front door and took a deep breath. A maid answered the door. "How can I help you miss?"

"I'm here to speak to the man of the household on an important business matter." The maid asked Theresa to wait for a moment while she fetched her master. A few minutes later the man Theresa had been tailing came to the door.

"State your business," he said curtly.

"Good morning sir. I represent one of the new export companies in Whitechapel and was sent here by my supervisor to inquire about establishing a deal for trade in Italy." The man looked her up and down before he nodded his head and invited Theresa inside. She followed him to a room that she assumed was his office. He took a seat behind a desk and motioned Theresa to sit in a chair on the other side. She sat down and he placed his chin on his hands. "Well, why don't you tell me what you will require from my boss in order to do business?"

He launched into a whole business speech that bored Theresa half to death. Through the whole thing he didn't say a word that hinted at him being connected to the Italian thefts. When he finished talking Theresa stood up and walked behind the desk. "That's all fine and dandy, but you should know I find this rather boring." She placed her arm around his shoulder and tilted his head to look into her eyes just like she had practiced yesterday. "I'm so tired playing the errand girl, and I was thinking maybe," she sat down on his lap, and he didn't object and she leaned in closer, her voice going to a whisper, "Maybe you could offer me something more… exciting." The man brushed some hair behind her ear and smiled coyly.

"That sounds very intriguing, except for the fact that you're a spy!" he seized her by the throat and threw Theresa onto the desk. "Don't try to deny it, I knew who you were the moment I saw you. Your hair is a dead giveaway; so white, so distinctive. You've earned quite the reputation working for the Phantomhive brat. You always show up before the Guard Dog flies in and ruins everything, like the first few snowflakes before the blizzard. Well, this will be the last storm you start." With his free hand he opened a drawer and pulled out a rag. Before she could scream for help he pressed the rag against her mouth and nose, forcing Theresa into unconsciousness.

When Theresa awoke she was in a different room than before. Her hands were bound behind her back and she was sitting against a cold stone wall. The lighting was dim, the faint glow from an undetermined source just barely enough to allow a regular person to see. Theresa's reaper senses kicked in when she heard footsteps approach from a distance. The man from earlier rounded the corner followed by three other men, one of whom Theresa recognized as a suspect in the recent thefts; he hadn't been apprehended because his alibis were flawless. Two of the men grabbed Theresa's arms and brought her to a kneeling position in front of the other two. "Now little miss, you're going to give us some helpful information, or we'll be forced to use more uncivilized methods."

"Sounds tempting, but I think I'll pass." The man growled and slapped Theresa across the face. It should have only stung for a moment, but he grabbed her face right where he had slapped it, making the sting linger.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear. Give us the key to bringing down the Earl Phantomhive now!" Theresa responded by spitting in his face. He lunged back and wiped his face off. "Fine then, have it your way. Boys, do your worst." He walked out, along with the other man Theresa recognized. The two lackeys released Theresa's arms and walked around to look her in the face.

"This'll be fun." The beating that followed was only tolerable for the first few punches. Normally she wasn't treated like a woman, but then she was being hit like she wasn't even a human. They used brass knuckles, whips, they even threw her against the wall. But she never screamed, not once, because she knew that was what they wanted; they wanted her to break. Blood dripped from several thousand cuts on her body, her head pounded, and her dress was torn everywhere. An hour later she lay on the floor, sprawled pathetically against the cold stones. The two men grinned at her evilly. "I think we've done our worst Alfonso. Let's go get the boss."

"Not quite," said the man dubbed Alfonso. He crouched beside Theresa and lifted her chin. "She's not broken yet. There's one more thing we can try." His hand released her chin and slid along her neck down to a rip in her dress along the neckline. He played with the rip a little bit, letting the frayed fabric dance between his fingers.

"Alfonso, we can't. That's not part of the job."

"Ah who cares? Toni said to do our worst, so that's what I'm gonna do." He turned back to Theresa, and she saw the lust forming in his eyes. "Now, try not to struggle _bella_." He ripped the dress open to her waist, exposing her corset. Alfonso sat her up and knelt behind her, letting his hands travel slowly across Theresa's body. He pulled one of the sleeves off and exposed her bare shoulder, which had several cuts and bruises. "See isn't this nice? You look so ravishing," he said mockingly. "I wonder how deep the cuts we've made really go; let's find out." He kept one hand wrapped around her waist as the other reached for the corset's lacing. Theresa gave a half whimper, which only made Alfonso grin wider.

"Uh, Alfon-"Alfonso turned to see why his companion stopped mid-sentence. He saw his friend crumple to the ground in a bloody heap.

"What the-"Theresa was thrown carelessly to the ground as Alfonso stood to investigate. She had trouble seeing what was happening from her current position; all she saw was Alfonso fall back down just as quickly as he had stood with his chest covered in his blood. Theresa felt someone come behind her, cut the straps on her wrists, and help her to her feet. As she stood the blood loss from her injuries caught up to her. Her head swam and she fell against her rescuer, whose identity was still unknown to her, as her vision went black.


	7. Chapter 7

When Theresa regained consciousness she had a pounding headache and she felt completely drained of energy. Her eyes focused and above her she saw a canopy she didn't recognize. Suddenly alert she sat up, looking left, then right, and then wincing in pain. She looked down and saw bandages wrapped over her torso and around some of the major wounds on her shoulders. Thankfully whoever had applied the bandages hadn't removed the bindings on her chest. Being more careful this time, Theresa lifted herself out of bed and walked towards a chair she had seen when she first observed her surroundings. Her lavender dress was draped over the back of the chair, and upon closer inspection it had been repaired almost flawlessly. She put the dress back on and left the room, curious as to where she was and who rescued her. Nothing looked familiar until she came upon a particular set of wooden double doors. They were the doors to Ciel Phantomhive's study. 'So,' she thought to herself, 'Ciel and the demon butler were my rescuers.' Theresa reached for the doorknob when she heard voices from the other side.

"The criminals have been handed over to Scotland Yard."

"Very good. And what about-"

"The corpses were properly disposed of, my lord." Theresa opened the door and saw Ciel sitting at his desk with Sebastian standing on the other side. The two of them turned and Sebastian flashed a smile at Theresa. "Ah Theresa, it's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

Before she could respond Theresa felt a pair of arms wrap themselves tightly around her. "Theresa, I'm so glad you're okay!"

"Undertaker?" Sure enough, Undertaker had Theresa caught in a tight embrace. He quickly released his grip and regained his composure. Theresa turned back to Ciel. "I'm feeling fine, young master. Might I ask how long I was unconscious?"

"Two days. Some of your injuries were quite severe."

"Well, I don't want to be an inconvenience, so I'll be taking my leave now."

"Are you sure you don't want to rest some more Theresa?" Undertaker asked.

Theresa shook her head. "I can rest back at the funeral parlor. Let's go." She walked out of the room and Undertaker decided it was in his best interest to follow her. The two of them didn't bother with a carriage and just walked all the way back to the city together. When they reached the edge of town clouds started rolling in and a large breeze swept through the streets. Out of the corner of his eye Undertaker saw Theresa start to shiver. He undid the knot of the grey sash, lifted it off his shoulders and placed it around Theresa's. As she wrapped it further around her shoulders it slowly unfolded and formed a perfect shawl. "Thanks," she said.

"We can't have you catching a cold on top of your injuries, now can we?" The two of them continued their trek back to the funeral parlor. Once they arrived Theresa returned the grey sash to Undertaker. "Now how about some tea?" Theresa simply nodded her head and went upstairs to change out of her dress. When she came back downstairs Undertaker was in the process of brewing a pot of tea. "Ah, there you are. The tea's almost done, love." He took a step closer and placed an arm around her shoulders. Suddenly she drew back with a hiss, almost crouching into a fighting stance. Undertaker's eyes widened slightly at the reaction, and when Theresa saw his expression she softened her own stance.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"Quite alright," Undertaker said. An awkward silence followed, and he decided to change the subject. "So, something tells me you were really eager to leave that manor. Care to tell me why?"

Theresa shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "I didn't like the way Sebastian was looking at me. It was a look that was a mix of pity and... something else. I don't know, maybe I was just imagining it." Undertaker shrugged; he didn't see any such look from the butler, but then again he wasn't really looking at him, his focus was more on Theresa. The kettle began to boil and Undertaker stopped his thoughts so he could focus on the tea. Theresa watched in silence as he prepared two beakers of the steaming liquid. When they were finished they sat in the main room and drank while sitting atop coffins, talking about nothing in particular. As they talked Theresa tried to get the horror of the last mission out of her head, but it wasn't really working. Alfonso had no hesitation in his eyes as he "played" with her, only lust; it made Theresa shudder just thinking about it.

The talking continued until the sun disappeared below the rooftops. As the funeral parlor darkened Theresa decided it was time to get some sleep. She said goodnight to Undertaker and went upstairs to her own room. After changing into her nightshirt she carefully crawled into bed and drifted off to sleep with little effort. However the dream that came to her that night was nothing short of terrifying.

Theresa ran through pure darkness in the tattered lavender dress, her breathing short and every part of her body burning from the effort to run as fast as possible. The more she ran the more the skirt of her dress wrapped itself around her ankles. She tripped and fell into the darkness, tumbling blindly until out of nowhere arms grabbed her torso and pulled her into a vice-like embrace. As she tried to free herself her captor chuckled darkly. "Struggling makes it worse, my dear." Theresa gasped and her eyes widened in realization.

"Alfonso," she said in a raspy voice that almost didn't sound like her own. "Let me go right now." She was forcefully turned around and made to look into Alfonso's eyes.

"So now you decide to put up a fight, after your collogues have seen how weak you really are? That's pathetic." His mouth curled into a devilish smirk, revealing a set of gleaming white fangs. With a sudden lunge, he bit into her shoulder like an animal, pulling away fabric and flesh. Theresa screamed in pain, and Alfonso spit out the piece of her skin and leaned towards her face, close enough to kiss her. "See, you are a weakling. Do you think I'm wrong? Then let's play a game; each time you scream, I get to hurt you some more. Won't that be fun?" He reached a hand across her back, gently caressing it. The motion was actually quite soothing until his hand raced back downward and scratched deep gouges into her skin. Theresa arched her back and did her best to resist, but she still screamed. Alfonso clicked his tongue shamefully, reached down to her legs, just above the knee, and ripped away the left half of her skirt, gouging into her skin once again. Just like the first time Theresa cried out involuntarily. The so-called game continued like this for what seemed like forever. After each scream there would be a passionate embrace quickly interrupted by clawing hands which lead to more screaming. When it seemed like there was nothing left to rip apart Alfonso reached his hand toward Theresa's neck, his fingers gliding softly across the untouched skin. Theresa knew if his claws ripped that flesh away it would be all over.

"Please don't," she whimpered, her voice once again not sounding like her own.

"You really are worthless," Alfonso said, "You don't even deserve a death like this. His hand left her neck and in a flash his fangs latched on instead. As the flesh pulled away within Alfonso's jaw Theresa screamed again.

Suddenly Theresa jolted awake, panicked and trembling. As she tried to calm her breathing she heard a furious knock at her bedroom door. "Come in," she called out weekly. The door flew open and Undertaker entered quickly, dressed in loose black pants and a dark grey shirt. His hat was nowhere to be seen, but the bangs still covered his face, and his mouth was curved into a deeply concerned frown.

"Theresa, what's wrong?" He stepped closer to the bed.

"Nothing. It was just a nightmare," she said shakily. Undertaker tried to wrap his arms comfortingly around Theresa, but she recoiled swiftly. "Stay away from-ah!" Her sentence was cut short by a cry of pain. Undertaker looked closer and in the dim lighting saw blood seeping through her nightshirt; Theresa must have thrashed around in her sleep and reopened her wounds. Swiftly but quietly, Undertaker left the room and retrieved new bandages. When he returned Theresa had laid back down on the bed and wrapped her arms around her torso, whether it was out of pain or an attempt to stop the bleeding he didn't know. He sat on the bed next to her and tried to sit her up. "Don't touch me," she said weakly.

"I'm sorry, but we need to change your bandages," he said with a little force. Theresa gave a silent nod of understanding and sat up. There was so much blood Undertaker was forced to rip the shirt to get it off of Theresa's body. After the shirt was out of the way the bandages were next. As he slowly unraveled them he started to feel guilty, and when the bandages were all gone he felt even worse. Beneath the blood was a cruel piece of artwork; several cuts lashed their way in various directions across her back, crisscrossing every now and then. The bruises were large and frequent, their edges deceptively soft, as if someone had applied blue and purple paint and simply blended outward. As Undertaker continued to look at Theresa's back he thought he could feel the pain from the injuries himself, almost like he was being punished for witnessing such cruelty. He began to wrap the new bandages around Theresa, slowly covering the cuts and bruises. As he applied them he spoke to Theresa with a soft voice. "Tell me about the dream."

"It was one of the Italians who captured me. He was ripping me apart with...let's call it deadly passion...every time I screamed he would hold me tenderly and then claw away another piece of me. It was all a game to him, a sick and twisted game. The whole time he kept calling me weak...and pathetic..." After she choked out the details Theresa's body began to shake with sobs. Undertaker finished wrapping the bandages, and although instinct was telling him to try and comfort her again, he knew she didn't want to be touched. That no good, filthy Italian; this was low, even by human standards! Now he understood why Theresa had been so apprehensive toward being touched ever since she woke up. It was because of what that man had almost done to her.

He picked up Theresa's old nightshirt from beside her. "This won't do. It's not even worth repairing." He thought for a moment, and then said, "Wait here." Undertaker left the room and returned a few moments later with a long black dress shirt. He helped Theresa slowly put it on, guiding her arms into the sleeves. She didn't move after she had the shirt on.

"Thanks," she mumbled. There was another long pause before Undertaker spoke again.

"You're not weak, you know."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I've had three months to see you excel at your work for the young earl. No weak person could do what you do every day." Undertaker replied. He was sincere about what he said. Despite the compliment Theresa continued to weep until Undertaker gently took her shoulders and laid her back down on the bed.

"What are you-"

"Shhhh. You'll be of no use to anyone if you're tired and stressed. Now lie down." Once she was laying down he stood,walked to the other side of the bed, and slid under the covers next to Theresa. Part of him said this was out of line, but the other side told him that this was the right thing to do. Theresa needed to know there were men out there who wouldn't treat her the way Alfonso did. He gently wrapped his arms around Theresa and he felt her tense up. He brushed her bangs away from her face and looked her in the eye. "Theresa, I promise I'm not going to hurt you." Undertaker knew that she knew that, but he needed to promise her, not remind her.

Theresa relaxed and let herself be pulled into Undertaker's embrace. Experience told her this was wrong; no man should be this kind to her, could be this kind to her. Then why did it feel right? She pushed it out of her mind and tried to focus on sleep. As she rested her head against Undertaker's chest, an interesting scent reached her. The smell of lilies and oak wood emanated from the man laying next to her. Theresa expected him to smell like embalming chemicals or some other strange odor, but this was a pleasant surprise. It was like she was being shown the beauty of death through other senses, a beauty only a man like Undertaker could show to her. Thinking about beauty was enough to help Theresa relax. That night she was lulled to sleep with the relaxing aroma and the steady, comforting beat of Undertaker's heart.


	8. Chapter 8

Ch. 8

After the nightmare incident Undertaker went back to Ciel and requested he give Theresa the rest of the week off. Ciel wasn't thrilled at the prospect, but Undertaker insisted. "That last assignment gave her nightmares. Reapers barely dream, let alone have nightmares. I'm sure she'll bounce back from this, but she needs time." Eventually Ciel agreed to let Theresa off for the week.

When Undertaker went back to the shop he found Theresa in the main viewing room talking to a customer. "Ah, there you are Undertaker," she said with a smile. She introduced the person she was talking to. It was an elderly woman who was looking into purchasing a coffin for her recently deceased husband. "I was just keeping her company until you got back."

"Your assistant here is really a gem. You're lucky to have her." Undertaker smiled.

"I really am. Now, how about we start discussing funeral arrangements?" Theresa left the room and went back upstairs while Undertaker talked to the old woman. She had nothing better to do so she cleaned her room. She organized the papers on her desk, hung up clothes back in her wardrobe, and straightened the bedsheets. After she finished, she saw a pile of bloody bandages on the floor just beneath the bed; picking them up made Theresa feel a little strange. It wasn't because she didn't tolerate blood, it was just the memories that came back when she looked at them. Theresa wanted to leave it all behind, but something told her that wasn't going to happen. She needed to take this as a learning experience instead of letting it haunt her. These things were going to happen, it was part of her job.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come in," she said as she threw the bandages into a nearby basket. The door opened and Undertaker stood in the doorway.

"The young earl's here. He wants to speak to the both of us." Theresa followed Undertaker back down the stairs and saw Ciel and Sebastian waiting, just like Undertaker had said. They both nodded their heads in greeting.

"I've come here to extend an invitation to the both of you. The Phantomhive Manor is hosting a ball at the end of the week, and I would like the two of you to be in attendance." Ciel said.

"Why?" asked Theresa.

"Consider it a gesture of gratitude for your service," he replied. He nodded to Sebastian, who pulled two envelopes from his coat pocket and handed them to Undertaker and Theresa. They each took one, and Ciel and Sebastian left the parlor. Theresa looked at the envelope and tossed it aside. Undertaker gave her a puzzled look.

"I'm not going," she said flatly.

"Oh come on deary," he said, "This will be a good experience for you. A nice social event to take your mind off of the past few days."

"That would also mean spending a whole night in the same place as Sebastian; the more I see him, the more uneasy I get." Theresa turned around with her arms crossed. Undertaker chuckled and spun her around to face him.

"I know that's not the real reason. Now tell me, why don't you want to go?"

Theresa gave an exasperated sigh. "I…. don't know how to dance." Undertaker paused, then burst out laughing, which earned him a punch in the arm. "I'm serious. No one ever taught me how."

"That shouldn't be the only thing keeping you from going to a ball. Besides, when it comes to dancing, the gentleman does most of the work. Here, let me show you." He took Theresa's right hand in his left and he placed her left hand on his shoulder. When he set his other hand on her waist he made sure to be careful so he wouldn't hurt her. "Right. And one two three, one two three." As he counted he spun Theresa across the shop floor, carefully avoiding the scattered coffins. She quickly got the hang of it and began to step in time gracefully. Suddenly Undertaker spun her in towards himself and dipped her downwards. He expected a gasp, but instead he got a lighthearted laugh and a genuine smile. It was as beautiful as he had imagined.

When she stopped laughing she looked up at him. "Since when do you know how to dance?" Undertaker stood her back up and leaned in next to her ear.

"I am a man of many talents, Theresa." Their brief lesson ended and the day went on as normal.

When Theresa wasn't spying on people for Ciel, she would help Undertaker with floral arrangements for the coffins. The rest of the week she did just that. It was actually a rather intricate process; it was tradition to place lilies in the coffin, but sometimes other flowers would be added, usually by request of the deceased's family. It was Theresa's job to incorporate all of the flowers in a design that was pleasing to the eye.

While she was working on one such project she felt slender fingers on her shoulders. At first she tensed, since the whole ordeal with Alfonso had made her sensitive to anybody touching her, but when she realized it was Undertaker she relaxed. For some reason he was the only person Theresa was comfortable being touched by. Maybe it had something to do with the night she had that bad dream. He had made her feel safe and…loved. 'Snap out of it Theresa.' she told herself.

Undertaker smiled at Theresa and inspected her work. "Nicely done, as usual. I'll admit, it's been nice to have a bit of feminine touch around here."

Theresa raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought you said I wasn't feminine." Undertaker's smile disappeared as he stuttered about, trying to respond to Theresa's comment. She laughed and playfully hit his arm. "I'm just messing with you. I was actually grateful for your honesty."

"Oh." Undertaker's smile returned. He looked at the pile of flowers that Theresa had yet to put in the arrangement. He picked a random flower and placed it in Theresa's hair. "That flower suits you; it compliments your hair nicely." He brushed her bangs behind her ear. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen anything as white as your hair. It's whiter than the purest snowflake…. That's it!"

"What?" asked Theresa.

"My nickname for you. You see, I've known plenty of Theresa's. The name suits you, but you deserve to be called something unique, it's just I hadn't figured out what your nickname should be until now."

"And what is it you're going to call me?"

"Snowflake, of course." He put another flower into her hair before he walked away. 'Snowflake' would do nicely for Theresa. His precious snowflake, not like any other woman he'd ever met. 'Don't get ahead of yourself. She's not yours.' That voice was getting rather annoying, but part of Undertaker believed it. He had been trying for the past few months to show Theresa his affection, but so far she hadn't seemed to notice. He decided he just needed to be patient.

"Undertaker? Shouldn't we be getting ready for the ball?" Theresa called from the next room. She was right! Tonight was the ball that Ciel had invited them to. He went back to the room Theresa was in and told her to stay put. He ran to a storage room and pulled out a dress; he usually had a decent stock of nice clothing for his guests, so he figured Theresa wouldn't notice this one as a dress he had custom ordered for the occasion. When he returned he asked Theresa to close her eyes and hold out her hands. She complied, and he placed the dress in her arms and told her she could open her eyes. When she did she gasped in surprise. The dress in her arms was royal purple with a faint shimmer in the material. Holding it up, she saw that it had a v-shaped neckline and slits in the shoulders; the skirt had two layers, the first one gathered at the waist on one side so it formed a diagonal cut; the sleeves went to her elbows and draped downward. Theresa had never seen a dress like this before. "How did you-"

"I had it special ordered for you to wear to the ball. I made a few alterations so it would be more to your style."

"I love it," Theresa said. "Nobody's ever done something like this for me." She went to her room to put on the dress. The fabric was soft, and the skirt reached the floor, even with her shoes on, granted they didn't have very high heels. While she still wasn't entirely comfortable in dresses, she was happy to wear it because of the thought behind it. Undertaker was so sweet to get a dress especially for her, and it was even her favorite color. She went to the washroom next door and took a look at her reflection; the dress really was flattering on her, and the silhouette of the neckline and sleeves mirrored that of her usual outfit. For a moment she thought about letting her hair down, but decided against it. She went back downstairs and saw Undertaker waiting downstairs. He had changed into a black suit with a dark purple waistcoat and a silver tie. He had a white lily on the lapel of his jacket, which was to be expected.

When he saw Theresa, Undertaker thought his heart had stopped for a moment. "My dear, you look stunning." She brushed a piece of hair behind her ear and blushed at the compliment. "But why didn't you do something with your hair?"

"I thought it would be too much effort. It's really a hassle when I let it down."

"Oh come now, it can't be that bad."

"It's all right, I'm fine leaving it up," Theresa said. Undertaker was a little disappointed; truth be told, he really wanted to see what her hair looked like when it was down. Suddenly he had an idea.

"Theresa, I left the invitations on that counter over there," he said, pointing to said counter behind Theresa. "Would you mind grabbing them?" Theresa turned toward the counter to grab the envelopes, surprisingly oblivious to Undertaker's plan. Once her back was fully turned, Undertaker ran behind her and pulled the pins out of her hair in less than a second. Before Theresa could stop him he had all of the hair pins in his hand. He watched as she turned back to face him, which only helped in shaking out her hair, and he saw the most beautiful locks of pure white hair cascade down her shoulders, past her hips, and all the way to her ankles. Undertaker felt his jaw drop; he had never imagined this.

"Well," Theresa said. "What do you think?"

"It's gorgeous." He came closer and slid his hands through her hair, feeling the soft strands caress his calloused hands. "You have to let me do something with it. Sit down, sit down." Theresa sat upon a nearby coffin and Undertaker stood behind her. He picked up a few strands and started braiding. His hands moved quickly and quietly as he wove Theresa's hair around itself in a complicated pattern. As he worked he felt something was missing; inspiration struck when out of the corner of his eye he saw a pile of purple orchids nearby. He grabbed some of the blossoms and inserted them into Theresa's hair, along with a few other flowers. When he was done he let Theresa go back upstairs to look in the mirror.

Theresa was astonished; Undertaker had braided and pinned so much of her hair it was nearly half its original length. The flowers were incorporated beautifully in with the braids, the purple of the orchids matching the dress and… "Where on earth did he get blue roses?" she wondered aloud.

"There's a florist in the countryside who's experimenting with dyeing flowers" Undertaker said. Theresa jumped, not aware Undertaker had followed her. "I thought the blue would work nicely with the purples, both in the dress and in the orchids. So, what do you think?"

"I never could have done this on my own. Thank you."

"It was no trouble. Now, shall we go, my snowflake?" Undertaker held out his arm and Theresa linked her own around it, and the two of them were off to the Phantomhive manor.


	9. Chapter 9

Ch. 9

When they arrived at the Phantomhive manor there were already several guests present. Theresa and Undertaker were personally greeted by Sebastian before he walked off to entertain the other guests. "Why don't you go on and mingle dear?" Undertaker said. Theresa nodded and hesitantly walked away from him towards a group of women on the far end of the room. She introduced herself and quietly joined their conversation, though she found little interest in their topics. Soon a young man came over and asked Theresa to dance. She nervously accepted and he whisked her away to begin a waltz; thankfully she was able to keep up and not make a fool of herself in front of the stranger. The song ended, but Theresa didn't return to the group of women. She wandered around and talked with other people instead until another man came over and asked her to dance. This continued for most of the night.

Eventually Theresa walked away from the rest of the crowd, getting tired of all the dancing and socializing. It was nice to meet new people, but the events were becoming monotonous. Looking around she saw Ciel talking with Sebastian away from the crowd as well; realizing she hadn't thanked them for her rescue, she walked over to the young earl. "Lord Phantomhive," she called out. Ciel turned around at the mention of his name.

"Ah, Theresa, I'm glad you came. I trust you've recovered all right."

"Yes. Actually that's why I came over here. I never got a chance to thank you for rescuing me from the Italians." Ciel was about to respond when a fit of laughter sounded from a boisterous redhead coming from behind Ciel. Grell wrapped an arm around Theresa's should as his laughter subsided. "Grell, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know I can't resist a party when my sweet Bassy is sure to be there. Anyway, you really are too much Theresa."

"What are you talking about?"

"The brat over here wasn't your rescuer that day." Theresa looked to Ciel, who confirmed what Grell had said.

"Well then who did?" Grell grabbed Theresa's shoulders and spun her around. He pointed into the crowd at Undertaker, who was busy scaring guests and laughing hysterically. "Undertaker?"

"Oh yes. I was here at the manor since I was done working (Theresa seriously doubted that), when all of a sudden there was a furious knock on the door. The clumsy maid opened the door and there was Undertaker with you in his arms. You were quite a bloody mess, you were. I'm so jealous of you Theresa; first he picks a fight with Will to try and get you your job back, and then he cradles you so sweetly. I wish I had a nice strong man to hold me in his arms," Grell turned to Sebastian, "How about it Bassy?" He leapt toward the butler who quickly sidestepped and let Grell tumble to the ground. Theresa was still in shock. Undertaker had saved her life? But why hadn't he said anything? And had Grell said he had tried to get her job back? She needed answers, now; Theresa quickly excused herself and went over to Undertaker. He was still laughing uncontrollably so she had to tap him on the shoulder. He turned and his smile widened.

"Ah, there you are my snowflake. Have you been enjoying the party?"

Theresa completely ignored his question. "You saved me from the Italians?" Undertaker nodded. "But why? How did you find me?" Suddenly the band started up again. Undertaker took Theresa's hand and pulled her to the dance floor. They spun around gracefully in time to the music.

"When you had been gone for quite some time I became worried. So I looked through the information on your desk and found out where the man you were observing lived. It didn't take me long to find where you were from there."

"But why? Why didn't you just alert Ciel and Sebastian and have them rescue me?"

"Because I felt I needed to save you myself. You see Theresa, I sense in you a spirit kindred to my own. We have both tasted a world of loneliness and strived multiple times to escape it. Ever since you walked through the door to my shop, I've felt a strong connection to you. You've made my world less lonely, for which I am very grateful. To lose you, especially after getting to see how special you are, would be a fate worse than death." Theresa pondered his words as they continued to dance. He felt connected to her? She had to admit at times she had felt a similar feeling, but thought it was just because over the past three months they had just gotten to know each other rather well. But for him to say losing her was a fate worse than death… nobody had ever expressed such feelings towards her. It was a little hard to process.

The music ended and Undertaker had disappeared. Theresa, however, made no effort to look for him. Instead she resumed the routine of mingling and dancing. But she had a hard time focusing on enjoying herself to any degree. Why did Undertaker feel connected to her? Why did she feel connected to him? One thing was for sure, Undertaker was a man of many mysteries, several of which Theresa was determined to unravel.


	10. Chapter 10

Ch. 10

When the ball ended Theresa and Undertaker were the last to leave; they returned to the parlor shortly after midnight. Theresa went back to her room and changed into her usual clothing, but she left her hair as it was. She went back downstairs and headed to the back room to brew some tea. Undertaker had beaten her to it, and already had two beakers of tea ready. He turned around, a little surprised to see her. "I was just about to come find you snowflake. Here," he said, handing her one of the beakers. She took it and sipped the tea gratefully; it was nice and calming after the long night she just had.

"Thank you." Undertaker simply smiled his signature grin. Theresa gazed at his face, and found her eyes focusing on his silver bangs. What did his eyes look like? She knew what color they would be, since he was a reaper. Or did she? She had to know what lay beneath his hair. Considering it the first of the many mysteries she was determined to unravel, Theresa set her beaker down and closed the distance between herself and Undertaker, who didn't seem to question her actions. He remained still as Theresa's hand drifted up to his face, secretly loving the feel of her fingers against his skin. Theresa took a breath and slowly moved the hair away from Undertaker's face.

His eyes were unlike any reaper eyes Theresa had ever seen. The yellow and green blended together in perfect harmony, making it seem as if his eyes were one captivating shade of green, like emeralds with golden sunlight filtering through them. There was a deep sense of mysterious wisdom in those orbs, with pinpricks of light filtering through from his love of laughter. But overall there was a foreboding, yet welcoming impression of darkness, a darkness obtained only from observing death for longer than anyone could tell. These were the eyes of a true death god. Theresa subconsciously leaned in closer, as trying to see if there was more to those compelling eyes, their foreheads touching softly. His long, dark lashes brushed downward as he slowly blinked, breaking Theresa from her trance. She leaned back quickly and shook her head, freed from the spell that were Undertaker's eyes.

"Did you like what you saw deary?" Undertaker moved his hair back in front of his eyes. Theresa nodded with a blush.

"Well, I better be off to bed. Goodnight Undertaker," Theresa turned to leave the room.

He seized her wrist before she could walk away. "I've shown you one of my secrets, now you need to show me yours." Theresa arched an eyebrow in confusion. "Come on deary, I've seen your glasses. They're much too thick, which could only mean one of two things: one, you're blind as a bat, or two, you're hiding something, and I'm guessing it's the latter."

Theresa decided that it was only fair she share her secret. She gave a heavy sigh and removed her glasses, closing her eyes and lowering her head as she did so, still feeling hesitant about this. She felt Undertaker's hand tilt her chin up slightly. "Come on snowflake, stop delaying the inevitable." Finally she opened her eyes, revealing something that shocked Undertaker. Instead of the standard yellow-green shade, Theresa's eyes were different colors: one was an ice blue while the other was a deep violet. They were gorgeous. Suddenly he found himself at a loss for words.

"I know. I look odd." Theresa said.

"No! Not at all! I was just... just... wondering why you hide your eyes." Theresa gave another sigh.

"While working with the reapers I was often caught between worlds. I wanted to fit in with the others, but at the same time I wanted to retain some of my unique traits. Most of the time the desire to fit in won out, so I conformed to the basic eye color with glasses that had a layer of color changing glass. That's also why I wear men's clothing."

"I never knew you so torn. It almost makes me wish I hadn't tried to get you your job back."

"Don't say that; it was a sweet gesture." She smiled at him as she talked, and as she did, something inside Undertaker finally broke. He turned away from Theresa, his feelings for her colliding with his opinion of himself. How could she do this to him? Every day she made him love her more and more, but he always knew there was no real love in her actions, because no one could ever love him.

Theresa watched as he walked away, curious as to his sudden change in demeanor. Then as she continued to watch she heard something that she would have categorized under the impossible; she heard the Undertaker crying. "What's wrong?" She asked with a noticeable amount of worry in her voice. No response, just more crying. Eventually her concern became too great and some form of instinct took over. She walked to Undertaker and hugged him from behind. She felt him start to try and free himself from her embrace.

"Let go of me," he commanded. Theresa refused and placed her head firmly against his shoulder blade. He continued to try and get her off. "I don't need your pity!" he shouted at her.

"This isn't pity!" she shouted back.

"Then what is it?"

"Love," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"What?"

There was a sudden silence as Theresa was asking herself the same question; had she just said she loved him? It wasn't that she didn't, she really had come to love Undertaker; she was just wondering why she said it now of all times. As she thought about it her grip loosened and Undertaker turned around to look at her. She saw through his bangs and noticed a glimmer of anger in his eyes. Was he really mad at what she had said? 'Of course he is you stupid girl,' she told herself. 'He doesn't feel that way about you, and no one ever will.' Once again instinct took over, this time causing Theresa to run from the shop and towards the rooftops.

Undertaker watched her run out the door as his heart filled with despair. He was right; she didn't love him. If she had meant it when she said it, why did she run? 'Just forget about her,' he told himself. 'She's not coming back." But how could he forget about her? Theresa had become a major part of his life ever since she came to him to try and find a serial killer. The whole time she had lived with him he had kept trying to show his feelings for her. The whole time she never seemed to notice. Theresa had inadvertently created a paradox in Undertaker's life; everyday she made him love her, and every day she made him hate himself, because part of him was convinced his love for her wasn't mutual.

"Well, this is quite a dilemma."


	11. Chapter 11

Ch. 11

Theresa ran along the rooftops for a good fifteen minutes before she had to catch her breath.

The flowers and braids had fallen out of her hair long ago, but Theresa didn't care. She sat down and thought about why she had run after her confession. Had she been scared? That seemed logical, but why was she scared? Well, Undertaker had seemed pretty mad at what she had done and said. That probably meant he didn't feel the same way. 'Wait a minute,' she thought to herself. She started recalling the past few months she had spent with Undertaker. All the compliments, the sweet gestures, like putting flowers in her hair and the dress, even saving her from the Italians. Were those all gestures of love? If so, she had never picked up on it because she had constantly told herself that no one could ever love her. 'Then why was he mad?' she asked herself. Well, there was only one way to find out. She got up, ready to go back to Undertaker, apologize for running, and find out if he loved her the way she loved him.

Theresa jumped across the rooftops until she landed gracefully in front of the shop. She reached for the handle, but found the door was open slightly. 'That's odd.' She slowly opened the door further and slipped inside the shop. It was unusually dark, and Undertaker was nowhere to be seen. Theresa went upstairs but he wasn't there either. As she came back down the stairs she heard voices coming from the back examination room. She moved towards the door, which was slightly ajar, and saw a strange white light. The conversation became more audible.

"See, I told you that you'd look better in red." said one voice.

"I'm just glad you didn't go overboard." said Undertaker.

"So why did you want this again?"

"If she's just going to run away with my heart, there's no point in continuing. Besides, the young earl can always find another informant."

"Oh, that's so poetic! It almost makes me wish I wasn't doing this." At this point Theresa moved to get a better view. Inside the next room was Grell Sutcliffe, death scythe at the ready, and Undertaker lying on the floor with a large slash across his chest and his Cinematic Record casting the light she had seen earlier. Theresa was so shocked at what she was seeing she was frozen in place.

"Well, it's a little late to turn back."

"Hmmm, I suppose you're right." Grell said. "Alright let's get this over with."

"Thank you Grell." The red reaper flashed a toothy grin as he raised his death scythe. Theresa found she was still powerless to move as the scythe sliced through Undertaker's record, ending his life. As the light faded, Theresa finally was able to move. She burst through the door and was at Undertaker's side in an instant. She was fighting tears as her hands trailed across his face and then moved down to the cut across his chest.

"Grell, bring him back." Theresa said through gritted teeth.

"Hmm, no can do sweetie." Theresa stood and whirled on Grell, her hand finding its way around his throat. "I said bring him back or I swear I will rip you limb from limb!"

"Look even if I wanted to I can't! Once a Cinematic Record is severed it can't be returned to the person." Grell said in a choked voice. Theresa released him and her voice lowered to a whisper.

"Get out." There was no complaint from the reaper as he left the shop.

Theresa returned to Undertaker's body and knelt beside him. As Theresa sat there she felt the tears force their way from her eyes. Everything had finally slipped away from her; her job, her pride, her self-confidence, and finally, the love of her life. Why was the world so cruel to her? Was she dealt a hand filled with nothing but darkness and depression? Every time she was given a piece of happiness it was destroyed. No, not destroyed, shattered beyond all repair. This wasn't fair! Undertaker didn't have to die!

Theresa's grief boiled into rage in less than a second. She flung her glasses off of her face, not wanting to see anything that could trigger any memories, and walked into the main room; she needed to break something. Her hands found a ceramic jar and flung it across the room. Before it even made contact with the wall Theresa had picked up another object and shattered it. Her vision clouded further as she continued to break things, her cursed instinct taking over again. It was her instincts that told her to trust Undertaker, to comfort him when he was upset, to confess her love to him, and to run right afterwards. And yet her instincts hadn't kicked in when she saw Undertaker on the brink of death. She could have done something, said something that would have stopped this.

Sometime during her fit of destruction she returned to the back room. Once her eyes saw Undertaker's dead body, Theresa finally froze. The rage drained from her, and she fell upon him, her head laying on his chest. Her hair fell around the two of them, engulfing them in a strange blanket. The warmth had left Undertaker, and his comforting heartbeat was nowhere to be found, but that familiar scent was still there, the scent that Theresa once thought represented the beauty of death; how ironic. She started to cry again, and when her tears were spent she still didn't move; there was nothing for her to do. Sleep finally came to her, though she didn't know exactly when. The days blurred together as Theresa laid there, not moving, barely breathing. She faded in and out of consciousness, knowing that she couldn't die, but not exactly caring whether she did or not.

The whole time she lay there, Undertaker's voice echoed in her mind. "To lose you would be a fate worse than death."


	12. Chapter 12

Ch. 12

About a week after Undertaker had died Ciel came to the parlor. He walked in nonchalantly. "Are you in, Undertaker?" Ciel called out. When his eyes adjusted he saw that the place was trashed. "What happened?

"I don't know young master, but I can't sense the Undertaker anywhere," Sebastian said.

"Sebastian, look around upstairs. I'll search down here." The butler nodded and darted up the stairs. Ciel walked towards the back rooms, carefully avoiding the broken glass. The first room was empty, with the exception of more broken objects. He crept to the other examination room, not quite expecting what he saw. Theresa, whom he had been starting to worry about, was laying on top of a body. Her white hair obscured enough of the person so Ciel couldn't identify him. "Sebastian, I've found something." His butler was at his side in an instant.

"Oh my," he said. "So that's where Theresa has been."

"Is she alive?"

"Yes, but I can't say the same for the person beneath her."

"Was Undertaker upstairs?"

"No."

"Well, let's get Theresa up and see if she knows where Undertaker is." Sebastian moved over to Theresa and started to shift her into an upright position. Suddenly Theresa's arm pushed Sebastian off of her. "How long have you been awake?" Ciel asked.

"Since you shouted for Sebastian. You really are loud." Theresa said flatly.

Slightly irked, Ciel continued the conversation. "We're looking for Undertaker. Have you seen him?" Theresa nodded and sat up, not bothering to look Ciel in the eye. "Well, where is he?" Theresa slowly moved her hair away from the body beneath her. Ciel gasped as he saw that the body was the Undertaker's. "What happened?"

"It's all my fault," Theresa said. She explained what had happened after the ball, and Ciel and Sebastian listened quietly.

"So this is all because he thought you didn't love him?" Ciel asked. Theresa nodded. "Do you love him?"

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't want to tell him because I've always believed no one would ever love me, and I thought if I confessed he wouldn't feel the same. To think, if I had just told him I could have stopped this. But I hid my feelings, and…I…." Theresa pulled her knees to her chest and laid her head against her arms as the tears returned; she waited for Ciel to give one of his 'don't dwell on the past' or 'once something's gone it can't come back' speech, but nothing came. Instead Sebastian knelt by her side and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Theresa, you really should get up. Sitting here won't do you any good. I understand you're in pain-" Theresa smacked his hand away.

"Shut up! You don't understand anything, you demon filth!" Sebastian gasped and Ciel took a step back. Theresa curled up again and leaned against the wall. Sebastian turned to face Undertaker's corpse.

"We should give him a proper burial."

"No!" Theresa shouted. Sebastian and Ciel turned to look at her. "If he's buried, he'll be gone forever. No one will remember him. I... We can't."

Ciel gave Sebastian a look and the two of them left the parlor. "What should we do, my lord?" Ciel sighed.

"I can't risk losing both of my informants. And while I don't quite understand love, I doubt Theresa is going to do anything without Undertaker by her side."

"My lord, are you suggesting-"

"Yes." Ciel turned to his butler. "Sebastian, this is an order. Take us to the reaper's library."

The two found their way to the desired location in a matter of minutes. Sebastian found the nearest reaper and asked him where Will could be found. "Last I checked he was in his office." After receiving directions from the reaper Sebastian and Ciel went to see Will. They entered and saw he was lecturing none other than Grell.

"How many times do I have to tell you? You cannot reap souls not on the 'To Die' list."

"I told you, he asked me to do it!" Grell shouted.

"Pardon the interruption," Sebastian said, making the two reapers turn and stare. "My young master and I have a few questions." Ciel stepped forward.

"We have come here to retrieve Undertaker's soul."

Grell sighed. "Oh dear Bassy I thought you were smarter than that. It's just like I told Theresa; once a soul has been reaped it can't be returned." Will then awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Actually that's not entirely true in this instance. You see, reapers harvest souls at the end of a human's life. But reapers, being immortal, have no end to their cinematic record. So in theory Undertaker's soul could be returned to him, and reattached where it was severed."

Sebastian gave a smile. "Then if you could kindly hand over his soul we'll be on our way."

"Absolutely not. Why should I hand over a soul to demon filth like you?"

"Because I need my informant back," Ciel replied.

"I'm afraid your personal desires do not affect whether or not I trust a demon." Will looked back down at his paperwork on the desk.

"If you do this for me I'll owe you a favor. Not to mention if we reverse the actions done by Grell here it will save you extra paperwork, which I'm guessing means less overtime." Will stopped what he was doing and looked at the young earl. From the looks of things he had caught Will's attention.

"Very well. I shall grant you this request. But I shall have to accompany you, since you'll need a reaper to manipulate the record."

"Why not just send Grell? He's already here, and it's his mess to clean up."

"I don't trust him to accomplish the task, and moreover I don't trust you demon." Will stood up and left the office, motioning for Ciel and Sebastian to follow. They made their way to the reapers library. Will walked to a shelf close to the back labeled 'Reapers Collection'. There were fewer books here, obviously from the fact that few reapers ever died. Will grabbed a black book from the shelf; the front had the words 'Adrian Crevan, a.k.a. Undertaker' written in flowing silver letters. He tucked the book under his left arm and the three of them left the library.

They made it to the Undertaker's parlor in a matter of minutes; everything was the same as Ciel and Sebastian had left it. Theresa was asleep against the nearby wall, her hair wrapped around her in a tangled mess. "Let's try not to wake her," Ciel said in a low voice. Will nodded and knelt beside Undertaker's body. He opened the book and let the strips of film fly from the pages. He turned to the body and activated the other half of the record. This half was blank, the strips of film representing the life Undertaker had not yet lived. The two halves of the Cinematic Record shot into the air, dancing around each other as they attempted to reconnect. Finally the blank record found the severed piece were Undertaker's life had ended. They wove themselves together and Will rewound the record. The light show ended abruptly.

"Did it work?" Ciel asked. As if in response Undertaker coughed and slowly sat up. After looking around for a minute his gaze fell on Will. His hand wrapped around Will's throat and his mouth curled into a scowl.

"What did you do? Why did you bring me back?"

"It was the Earl Phantomhive. He asked me to do it," Will said, surprisingly calm despite being strangled. Undertaker turned to look at Ciel.

"I wanted death! What purpose was there in reviving me!?"

"I did it because I need my informant back," Ciel said.

"That's a weak excuse; someone can always replace me."

"I wasn't talking about you. I was talking about her." Ciel said, pointing to Theresa. Undertaker looked to her sleeping form, feeling a whirlwind of emotions, some of which felt alien to him.

"What is she doing here?"

"She's been here for the past week crying over your corpse," Sebastian said. "Evidently she was just as unloved and lonely as you, and your death was too much for her."

"Unloved?"

"Yes. You were both so convinced you would never find love, you failed to recognize when the other was showing such affection." Sebastian said.

We'll leave you two to work things out," Ciel said. "Sebastian, let's go." The young earl and his butler left the shop. Will quietly removed Undertaker's hand from around his throat and left as well. Undertaker looked at Theresa, who had been asleep the whole time.

"She loves me," he said under his breath. He couldn't believe it. He stood up, felling unusually stiff; evidently being dead for a week would do that to you. Crouching beside Theresa, he saw she was shivering, and, upon feeling her forehead, had a slight fever. He clicked his tongue, "My snowflake, you've gone and worked yourself up so much you've managed to make yourself sick. We can't have that now can we?" He gently took Theresa into his arms and carried her to her room, placing her under the blankets. He then grabbed a wet cloth from the nearby washroom and placed it against her forehead. "That should do it," he said to himself. "Now to clean up downstairs. You made quite a mess of things, my snowflake."

Undertaker walked back downstairs, but not before going to his own room and changing into a clean set of robes. He surveyed the damage Theresa had undoubtedly caused. Part of him felt bad, but he had to allow himself a small chuckle.

In her blind rage, Theresa hadn't touched a single coffin.


	13. Chapter 13

Ch. 13

Theresa woke up reluctantly, ready to just fall back into unconsciousness; there was still no point in anything. She turned her body and felt fabric shift with her. 'That's odd," she thought to herself. Her eyes opened and she saw that she was back in her room. Something fell into her lap, and looking down she saw it was a wet cloth; she assumed that it was previously on her forehead, seeing as her forehead was damp.

Curious to know why she was in her room, Theresa got out of bed and stepped into the hallway. Nothing upstairs had been broken, just the items downstairs. She got closer to the stairway and heard the sound of sweeping coming from below. Somebody was cleaning up; Theresa assumed it was Ciel, or rather his butler. She rolled her eyes and headed downstairs. "Ciel, Sebastian, I thought I told you I wanted to be left alone!" In reality she hadn't said anything like that, but she thought it was pretty clear by her behavior earlier. She was a few steps from the bottom of the stairs when she looked up and saw who was sweeping the floor.

"You're finally awake, my dear." Undertaker said with a small grin. Theresa was frozen in shock; he was dead, he couldn't be here. This had to be a dream, a bad dream. Her left foot slid backward, ready to run back to her room so she could wake up. Undertaker saw what she was preparing to do and held out his hands towards Theresa, gesturing for her to stop. "Don't run! Please! This isn't a dream, I promise." Theresa came down off the stairs and approached Undertaker slowly. His hands turned so his palms faced up, and Theresa placed her own hands in his. They were as calloused as she remembered; this didn't feel like a dream, but Theresa still didn't trust her senses.

"How are you here?"

"The young earl persuaded a Mr. Spears to return my Cinematic Record. When I awoke he told me how he found you crying over my corpse. I admit I wish I could have seen something so touching."

"How did you know I thought this is a dream?"

Undertaker gently caressed her face with his slender fingers. "Because I would be thinking the same thing. There's been many a time in my life where I've had a chance at happiness, and it's vanished because it was only a dream."

Theresa looked up at Undertaker. He looked the way he normally did, including the hair in front of his eyes. Something told Theresa the surefire way to tell if this was a dream lay underneath his bangs. Her hand reached up and brushed away the hair. Sure enough, those yellow-green eyes were there, gleaming with wisdom and laughter. Theresa leaned in close, their foreheads touching like they did a week ago. There was no way this was a dream; no fantasy could ever recreate those eyes.

Once again, instinct took over, and Theresa placed her lips against Undertaker's. He snaked his arms around her waist and deepened the kiss. The both of them were lost in a world of pure bliss; probably the two loneliest reapers in the world found love within each other's arms in that moment. The kiss was broken and Theresa looked into Undertaker's eyes.

"Do you still think this is a dream?" Undertaker asked her.

"If it is, I don't want to wake up," she said.

"Well, whether you're awake or asleep, I'll be by your side. I love you, my most precious snowflake."


End file.
